Happy New Bloody Year (revisited)

It was six years ago to the day when I launched this blog, at the beginning of 2012. Since then there have been good and bad times, but it does seem that there have been huge demands on my time which have restricted my opportunities to blog, which is a shame for me as I enjoy writing and it always feels very cathartic.

So - it a nutshell - let's look at some of the good things that have happened over the last few years:

a) Sold my business (which was a massive stress reliever for me),
b) Bought a place in Calabria, Italy,
c) Got married (again) to the wonderful Dawn, and
d) Obtained a grandson - Nathan.

So, all in all, I feel pretty lucky and fortunate. There are so many less well off than I am and for that I am thankful.

It hasn't all been roses and champagne though and the trials and tribulations haven taken their toll. I have just made the decision to retire as a musician (something that I have been doing semi professionally since I was 16) and also to come off of social media. I firmly believe that this need to capture every single moment of every day is completely destructive for young people. I have been using it less and less anyway so it is no big deal to stop altogether.

I think I am looking toward a more simple, stress free life as I approach my 60's (I'll be 57 this year) and absolutely hoping to spend more time in Italy over the coming years.

This isn't the end of my writing, but it does seem a poignant time to bring this particular blog to a close. As things settle down for me, keep an eye out for my next writing project.

Thanks for reading.

Another Fine Mess

Yep. Here's another fine mess you've gotten us into, Mr Cameron. What a mess, in fact. The Un-united Kingdom. Throw the England football team in there as well and we are probably an absolute laughing stock at the moment. Could that be Woy and Dave sitting there in the Dunce's caps? Well it should be.

But let's look at Brexit. For me, one big, massive plus was that it proved we actually live in a democracy. The people have spoken. On the morning of the result, Cameron resigned almost as fast as Hodgson, both with clearly pre-prepared speeches (Who knew?) and this sparked speculation of an imminent General Election. The Tories were in turmoil. Step forward Jeremy Corbyn, a man who has split the Labour Party in the same way as Brexit split the country, and within two days Labour had imploded leaving Corbyn to find a new shadow cabinet. Another fine mess.

It was a close vote. A very close vote, in fact. When you bear in mind that London was a Remain stronghold and on the actual day of the referendum there was severe flooding around parts of the Capital, it may have even been that different weather may have produced a different result.

A country's entire economic and political future surely cannot be irreversibly decided on something so fragile.

The vitriol from some Remainers post-result has been massively disappointing and has resulted in equal and retaliatory abuse from Leavers. "Stop moaning because you lost", they say, "the people have spoken. Let's all be friends now and move on." Yeah, right. Because that is exactly what would have happened if Remain had won, wouldn't it? The Leavers were noisier in the lead up to the vote and therefore it's reasonable to assume that they would be just as noisy if it had gone the other way. About 2-3 weeks ago, Nigel Farage even said that a vote of 52-48 would classify as "Unfinished business" and on that single point, he is absolutely right. It is almost a split decision.

On social media, there has recently been a gush of pictures and videos relating to the 100th anniversary of the Somme and how we must never forget the people who lay down their lives for Britain in both world wars. And so we shouldn't. Among my circle, it would appear to be the Leavers who are most passionate about this issue. It is certainly true that, in voting Leave, the elderly did not steal the future from the younger generation, but in fact gave it to them by overcoming the enemy in   1918 and 1945. But bearing in mind that the foe in World War II was Nazi Germany, am I the only one who sees the irony in the fact that the Leave victory has given a platform for the far right in this country to spout their messages of hate? Many of my friends voted Leave and I consider none of them racist. What concerns me is that anyone who is a racist may now think the rest of the country is with them! This is something that we should all unite to stamp out. It has no place in the modern world.

I am also appalled at the lies and exaggeration from both camps. Yes, yes, I know politicians lie, it's part of their job, but just within my friends and family circle I am aware of people who have voted Leave because

A) They thought that it would stop immigration from places outside Europe,

B) They thought it cost £350m a week to be in Europe and if we left then all of that money would be put into the NHS, and

C) They don't like George Osborne.

I also am aware of people who voted Remain because

A) They thought they would not be able to go to Europe any more,

B) They can't stand Nigel Farage,

C) They thought voting Leave would label them as a racist.

None of the above reasons have any basis for a proper informed vote and I also know some people who didn't vote because they didn't have enough information to make a decision. I was very nearly one of them.

So, what are the options now?

This is when we need real information, not lies and propaganda. There is no longer the need to win a vote, so now let's have - as far as we can - proper and factual information, like for instance - 

Is the referendum legally binding or is it, in fact, just a huge opinion poll?

Do we have to repeal the 1972 European Community Act before Article 50 can be invoked?

Can Europe kick us out regardless?

What will happen to the European immigrants already living and working in the UK?

As the Republic of Ireland is a member state, does this mean our borders have to stay open for free movement of labour if we want to have access to the single market in any way, shape or form? (In other words, even if we leave, the immigration issue will not change).

How much does it actually cost us to be in Europe (this must be a matter of fact rather than opinion; it's a maths thing and the Treasury must have the figures).

Are we going to actually be able to negotiate new trade deals with the EU during our exit or do we have to wait until that has been finalised before starting?

Will Scotland be allowed a second referendum and what effect will that have if they leave the UK and stay in the EU?

Pretty much everything else is conjecture, but the above is the absolute minimum that we are entitled to know.

Will we have a second referendum? Who knows. But even without the above, how we reunite this divided Union is a conundrum that will test the very, very best of men. Perhaps tackling racism would be a start. Find some common ground that the majority agree with and work from there. 

However, there doesn't appear to be anyone in line to pick up the baton. 

Frankly, I'm scared.

And Breathe... - 2015 - A Year in Review

August/September 2015 – Part 9 of 12

Things now felt different.

After the funeral, we started to get used to Dad not being around. The adrenaline that kept us going through the darkest hours had now subsided and reality started to kick in. As mentioned in the last blog “Life After Fred”, we’d booked a late holiday at a very unexpected discount, one weeks All-Inclusive to Es Cana in Ibiza at 40% off. That sort of reduction in High Season at the last minute is practically unheard of; it was as if it was there just for us. Thank you, Mr Universe. Rude not to take advantage, eh?

It was well needed and deserved, the only down-side being the fact that the food wasn’t great and that aside from the beer, the all-inclusive drinks were appalling and served in tiny plastic cups, plus no matter how many people were waiting to be served, if there was a regular customer at the “cash” end of the bar, they were seen immediately. On occasion it took over 20 minutes to get a drink.

We love Ibiza though and the weather was decent enough, plus we went on an Island cruise and saw a beautiful sunset, absolutely stunning.

In addition, we saw a HUGE Yacht, British registered, it's own Jet ski deck, giant slide... amazing.

Elsewhere, my work routine was starting to get back to normal and to my dismay, BT Openreach had not exactly been doing their job, Since May we had been waiting for a link line to BTMK’s Southend office and the Fibre Optic cable had been delivered tantalisingly close to the building – the box outside in fact – but because we were on the first floor, we had to have a hoist to get the cable from the ground floor to our level and that still hadn't happened. The reason for this was that there was only one hoist in Essex and because of our location, the work needed to be done on a Sunday, the one day that the hoist operator didn't work. No – I'm not joking.

This was slowing us up massively as the Southend office needed to use our system and could only log in to it via regular broadband which made it SO SLOW! It was literally taking 5 times longer than it should to get the work done; not great.

Generally though, Dawn and I felt that we really were entering a new era, that all the stresses over the year had come to a head and that we could now push on and get on with the rest of our lives.  

Life after Fred - 2015 - A year in review

July 2015 - Part 8 of 12

Arranging a funeral is not a fun thing. Your life is on "hold" as this day looms ever nearer, clearly not a day that you would be looking forward to.

We had used Stibbards Funeral Directors, the last real family undertaker in the area and ones I was very familiar with through work. Their service was excellent and they look a lot of the weight off our shoulders as they arranged for everything from the Order of Service to the Obituary in the paper.

That whole period is bizarre; everyone who knows you and is aware of your loss offers condolences but many are almost too embarrassed to engage in conversation. Those who don't know and who enquire as to how things are are immediately overly apologetic that they didn't know and had raised the subject in the first place. My most oft used phrase was "Don't worry, it's fine, we knew it was inevitable and life goes on."

But there is a huge sense of loss that such a large piece of your life is no longer there and you have to get used to being without it and getting on with stuff.

To be honest the period in between Dad's passing and the funeral is a huge blur and I remember very little aside from going to see him one final time in the chapel of rest. I'm not sure I was ready for the fact that he would be so cold - obvious really but not something that actually crosses your mind - and it could just as easily have been a stone statue of him. A sad, sad day.

The funeral itself went very well, fabulously well attended at the chapel (standing room only) with estimates of around 200 people. There was a burial with family only at the graveside and afterwards a super Wake put on by Sandbank restaurant in Leigh, Mum and Dad's favourite restaurant.

I will share one true black comedy style moment from the graveside, When the coffin was being lowered into the ground (it was a double plot so probably 10 feet deep) the trestles supporting it were removed and placed on the floor. I had failed to notice one and as I stepped forwards with a handful of earth to throw onto the coffin I nearly tripped over it, stumbling head-first towards the grave! It does seem a bit disrespectful to laugh at a graveside but it was unavoidable and provided an unintentional moment of light relief amongst the sadness.

Many thanks to Matthew and Sam Locker for catering for us at the restaurant on their day off. We got through it well I think, Mum was amazing and I do feel that a Wake provides the balance; the funeral service is sad and the Wake is a celebration. That's how it felt and how it should be.

The funeral was on July 13th, exactly one week before my birthday which as you can imagine was somewhat subdued. Dawn and I decided to book a late holiday as a week's complete rest was required. Mum and Dad's favourite place was Tintagel in Cornwall and I offered to take her there, but it was too soon and she declined. As it was, we managed to get a late deal to Ibiza - really unusual in August - and had that to look forward to.

All we had to do now is adapt to life after Fred.

The inevitable happens - 2015 - A year in review

JUNE - Part 7 of 12

One of Dawn’s contacts in Italy had seen her plight on social media and had really kindly invited us out to her Yoga Retreat centre for some R&R over a long weekend in the Sabine hills outside Rome. Four days of nothing, no internet or mobile signal… this was absolute heaven and in the most tranquil and beautiful surroundings imaginable, just what the Doctor ordered. I was certainly fairly relaxed when I went for the ECG and blood test results pretty much as soon as I had returned.

Of course, I had already done what any other person would have done and googled details of symptoms I could/may have and what they could/may mean… within five minutes I was convinced I would be a Type 2 Diabetic being rushed into hospital for an emergency operation to have stents put in!

As I lay on the couch being wired up for the ECG, the nurse made pleasant, idle conversation. My heath wasn't discussed at all really. At the end she just said “Well, that’s all normal. No problems there.”

Really?  Wow.

My blood pressure was now a much more regular 115/75 and I waited for the final verdict; the blood test results. These weren't immediately forthcoming and so I had to actually ask for them.

“Oh, hasn't anyone told you? It’s all good. Your cholesterol is a touch high but cut down on your carb intake and you should be fine. Maybe take some exercise as well. Give my best to your parents.”

So after everything I’d been through, my cholesterol is a tad high and my blood pressure is very high but under control. Result.

So now to Dad, still in discomfort and with us trying to get him into Havens Hospice for pain control, but sadly without success. They did however come round to see him to try and prescribed “Oxynorm”, much stronger pain relief which had to be administered in very low doses and gradually built up due to the fact that his body had only been used to Panadol. Fortunately there was no side effects but there was also no pain relief either; therefore, after a few days of this, they said his body could probably take the increase. Father’s Day, June 14^th, was his last good day and he was surrounded by his family again and he loved this picture with his grandchildren.

The day after, Dad deteriorated and it was clear Mum needed more support. Dawn was incredibly supportive, moving clients around to accommodate the situation and without her it would have been impossible. She had a "dance" with my Dad in the lounge, supporting him as he moved slowly and slightly from side to side, a touching gesture to make someone in the latter stages of their life very happy. I also changed my working pattern and BTMK were great, allowing me as much time as I needed. I still saw clients, but only worked early mornings and in the evening, spending lunchtime and the afternoons with Mum and Dad, doing whatever was necessary.

On Monday 21^st, he took his usual afternoon nap but  really struggled to get his legs working and wasn’t able to properly wake up. It took Mum 40 minutes to get him about 10 feet to the loo and Dawn and I 30 minutes to get him out again. The Ambulance was called.

After over an hour(!), a Paramedic arrived and immediately diagnosed the problem; Oxynorm is effectively medical Heroine and his body was unable to take the increased dosage so he had to be treated for an accidental overdose. Here was my 88 year old Dad, who had never smoked, taken any sort of drugs or excess alcohol, being given the same treatment as a junkie.

The antidote was impressive; a small vial of liquid, about 5 ml I guess, injected into the bloodstream.

“What does that do then?” I asked the medic.

“Well, without getting too technical,” he replied, “the drugs attach to the blood cells via a receptor and this makes them become unattached.”

“Oh, ok, how long will that take to work?”

“About 20 seconds.”

“Wow, what will happen?”

“He’ll wake up.”

And, true to his word, about 20 seconds after being injected with the antidote, Dad woke up, completely confused as to what was going on, but back in the room, so to speak.

He needed to go to the hospital – the antidote only lasts 7 minutes, so he gave Dad everything he had, which was almost an hours worth - before regaling us with comical stories of junkies falling over shortly after being treated and refusing hospital admission. Dad made so such refusal of course, to be honest he didn't have much choice.  After several hours of waiting in A&E (Monday is the busiest day in the NHS and they were swamped - our ambulance team had come from Colchester, 40 odd miles away), Dad was admitted to Southend hospital, which is where he stayed.

He was moved to a general ward on Tuesday and then to a private room for a while before Havens Hospice had a vacancy became available. They got him comfortable and his sister and other family members came to see him on Thursday 25th, as did the staff from the office, and then he went to sleep, never to wake up and subsequently passed away in the early hours of Sunday morning, 28^th June.

His eldest grandchild had been the last to see him, calling in on his way home from work as a barman at midnight and staying for an hour, singing my Dad his favourite songs before saying goodbye. An absolutely touching and emotional scene and one that brings tears to my eyes just writing this.

At around 4:30 am, Mum got “the call” and we immediately went round. Despite my job working as a Probate lawyer, I had never actually seen a corpse and it was surreal. It wasn’t my Dad laying there, it simply couldn’t be. But of course, it was.

The staff were as respectful and as helpful as they could be and I wasn’t really sure whether to stay or go. They made the decision for us, ushering us out after around 20 minutes.

We got outside, completely numb. The sun was just starting to rise. Mum made the decision there and then that the first Hymn at the funeral would be “Morning has Broken”.

A monumental month, episode 2 - 2015 - A year in review

THE SECOND HALF OF MAY - Part 6 of 12

The Doctor I saw was new to me, but it was the same surgery that treated my parents. They were well known up there as my father was the most sensitive person to medication that they had ever encountered and for months, pretty much all the GP’s there had been putting their heads together to try and find something that made my Dad more comfortable, so far without success.

“You and your Mum have had a trying time looking after him, haven't you?” he said. Yes, I guess we had, so I could do no more than agree.

“Well, it's taken its toll on you. Your blood pressure is very high, 155 over 95. I’ll put you on some medication to bring that down, plus I want you to do a fasting blood test and then an ECG. We’ll give you a bit of an MOT. In the meantime, try and take it a bit easier.”

So that was that. He said I had to take the tablets for a few months, probably NOT for the rest of my life, but certainly for the short term. I booked in for the blood test there and then, with the ECG being early in June.

Take it a bit easier… yeah, right. I had a new department to grow, elderly parents to look after and also a Wembley play-off final to attend! I also was concerned about how my new employers would view this; they’ve only just taken the firm over and within three days they could have had the quickest ever “Death-in-Service” claim in history, plus now someone that they have invested in has high blood pressure and orders to “take it a bit easier”. Hmm.

Well, I did try. A bit.

The play off final against Wycombe at Wembley on May 23^rd however was hardest. I just wanted a nice, non-eventful day with either team (preferably Southend, obviously) getting a comfortable win so there was no repeat of the semi-final drama, which clearly was the event that tipped me over the edge.

As it transpired, the game itself (or at least the first 90 minutes of it) did it’s best to accommodate my condition by being fairly staid and boring. I think at one point the commentators described it as “one of the worst games to grace Wembley” and it certainly wasn't edge of the seat stuff. We had a goal disallowed and a strong penalty claim denied, whilst our keeper made a decent save a few minutes from the end. That was about it. Tense? Yes. Exciting? Well, no, not really.

It was in extra time where Wycombe upped the ante by scoring first, the ball trickling over the line – but only just – via our keeper’s backside as the ball came down from the crossbar. Neither team looked much like scoring after that and so most thought that our goose was cooked with us being destined to spend another dreadful season in League 2. Wycombe were exhausted and trying to slow the game down by wasting time and falling over at every opportunity. There was only 20 seconds of extra time left when Southend's on-loan striker Joe Pigott fired into the net to send every Southend fan into delirium. I actually thought I was going to pass out. Wycombe were literally on their knees and there was only sufficient time to restart the match before calling time and signalling a penalty shootout. Oh. My. Word.

Fair play to all participants on both sides, a better set of penalties would be hard to imagine. Pressure? Barely, certainly none that was evident, although eventually it got to one of the Wycombe players as Southend's young keeper, Dan Bentley, threw himself to his left to palm his penalty onto the post and away to safety. Southend had won and were promoted!

It was a full 5 seconds before I realised what had happened. With a fuzzy and confused head, I managed to eventually get out of my seat before disbelievingly looking at the celebrations going on all around me. Realisation and joy then set in as the drama ceased; the game had become one of the most dramatic finals ever to grace Wembley, quite a contrast from the commentators comments made less than an hour before.

And so my mad, manic, monumental month drew to a close, me still in one piece and not yet halfway through the year.

Surely June must be a little less stressful? Although I do have the blood test and ECG results still to come…

A monumental month, episode 1 - 2015 - A year in review

THE FIRST HALF OF MAY - Part 5 of 12

So, where to start in a truly monumental, massive month where so much went on…

Well, as the song goes, let’s start at the very beginning. May 1^st, takeover day and the day I become an employee again. It was a Friday and largely uneventful, the day being taken up with administrative stuff, making sure all clients’ money was sent across accurately and reconciled correctly. After work we all toasted the 28 years of FWG and welcomed in the start of a new era.

May 2^nd saw Southend United’s day of destiny in the North West of England with their trip to Morecambe and the Globe Arena. Weather wise, it was absolutely not May 2^nd unless you happen to be in the Russian district of Oymyakonsky (officially one of the coldest permanently inhabited locales on the planet) and it rained constantly, making it an even more “interesting” experience. Without going into massive detail, we went 1-0 down early, equalised, threw everything at Morecambe only to get caught on the break – twice – and lost 3-1. This would have been enough to secure promotion if Bury had lost, but surprise, surprise, they didn't. Play-offs for us then. We did have a good day out though and the match shall be forever known as “The game what we lost” (see what I did there?).

The weather down south was distinctly different and on the Sunday, Dawn suggested a walk in the woods as she had a bit of a headache. Off we went on this bright, early summers day, chatting, carefree, contemplating Southend’s play-off chances and the potential General Election result when all of a sudden,.. BANG! CRACK!

Then a scream.

I got up from the deck to discover a pile of debris on the floor next to me with Dawn on her knees a few feet away, clutching her skull and in obvious agony. Some dead wood had fallen from the boughs of the tree, some 30 feet or so above us, landing straight on top of us as we walked underneath. I escaped with a couple of scratches but Dawn got clumped “good and proper” on the noggin, meaning a trip to A&E with her neck being put into a brace. This also meant she missed taking her eldest, Megan, out for her 18^th birthday meal we were due to have later that day.

This confined Dawn to bed for a few days where she was able to fully take on board how lucky she had been and also consider the plight of the poor Nepalese people who had their habitat decimated in the massive earthquake the month before. She used her enforced non-working time to pull together as many people as she could to put on a fund raiser for Nepal, which raised nearly £4000. A cracking effort.

As for Dad, he was going along as before and had had some railings installed in the garden so he could walk up and down without fear of falling, he really was getting frail now.

Southend's first play-off semi-final came around and they eked out a 1-1 draw at Stevenage, with the second leg being at Southend's home, Roots Hall, on May 14^th. This was an incredibly tense affair, with Southend initially going 1-0 down, equalising and then missing a last second penalty to send the game into extra time. In one of the most dramatic matches I have ever witnessed, we eventually wrapped up a 3-1 win and won through to get to the Wembley play off final against Wycombe on May 23^rd, but not before some major scares!

No liquid celebrations took place that night – save that for winning at Wembley - and I went to bed, delirious on the ecstasy of what I had witnessed earlier.  The following morning I awoke, and the room immediately went on tilt. I felt incredibly dizzy for a few seconds, and then it passed. Thinking maybe I had got up too quickly, I carried on and got ready for work, but this pattern continued throughout the day. I called my GP (a very rare occurrence I might add) and spoke to the receptionist, with the conversation going something like this :

Me – “Can I make an urgent appointment to see the doctor please, I really feel quite odd.”

Receptionist – “I'm sorry, appointments are about 7-10 days away unless it’s an emergency. Is it an emergency?”

Me – “Well, all day I have felt dizzy and swimmy, the room keeps going sideways and I haven't had anything alcoholic to drink. You tell me; is that an emergency?”

Receptionist – “Hang on.”

<Pause>

“Doctor says come in immediately.”

Bloody hell.

The calm before the storm and some devastating news - 2015 - A year in review

APRIL 2015 - Part 4 of 12

With one of the major events of the year out of the way, April felt a bit like “the calm before the storm”, as I spent most of the working month getting everything ready in the firm ahead of the BTMK takeover on May 1^st. The aim is to expand their Private Client department into one of the strongest and biggest in the South East and I am looking forward to the challenge.

There was however, one piece of devastating news; I took Dad to the Oncology clinic for the results of his Prostate Cancer tests. Unfortunately, it had not responded to treatment and had now spread into the bone. Because of his hyper-sensitivity to medication of pretty much all forms (even anti-nausea tablets made him sick) and generally due to his frailty (his weight had dropped from over 11 stone before Christmas to about 8 stone now), we were told that there was nothing more that could be done for him and it was just a case of keeping him comfortable for as long as he had left, whether that be weeks, months or years.

I guess it’s what I had expected but it still isn't easy to hear. Death is inevitable, one of the only certainties in life, but even though we know we can’t avoid it, we never seem to be prepared to deal with it when it happens. The doctors were unable to be more precise, but I think with Dad having zero appetite and eating barely enough to feed a sparrow, deep down I knew that it wasn't going to be all that long.

So most of my spare time in April was spent supporting Mum and making sure she was nourished and well enough to continue looking after Dad and keeping him as comfortable as could be.

Aside from that, which made this month quite an emotionally draining one, I took some cheer from the rising fortunes of Southend United, who won every game in April. The highlight of this month was a trip down to Exeter by plane for a load of us for a legendary weekend in which the game was secondary, but nonetheless we won with an injury time goal which had brought the impossible dream ever closer. 

At the end of March, we had needed to win our last 8 games to stand a chance of automatic promotion and as we had won 5 and then went on to win the next two matches, we were in third position going into the last game of the season, away at Morecambe on May 2^nd and a win would guarantee League One football next season. A crowd of us were going to go up on a charter flight put on by the club, and we had sold over 2200 tickets, meaning the crowd would be approximately 50/50 split between Morecambe and Southend fans. We had never beaten them before in a league game in 9 attempts, but surely with such a voracious away following and with them having nothing to play for, this would be our day?

A New Home - 2015 - A Year in review

MARCH 2015 - Part 3 of 12

March 2015 gave us a new home, which meant we weren't renting and one day would have a property that wouldn't cost a fortune every month! Grant House had been in my family ownership since the mid 1970’s when it was purchased by my Mum’s sister and her husband. My Aunt sadly passed away within a year or so of moving in, but Albert stayed until 1990 when he suffered a stroke and went to live with his daughter in Newcastle until his death a few years later.

My parents bought it from them in the mid 90’s and we used it as an office until the firm outgrew it in 2003 and moved to Leigh Broadway, but Dad continued to work from there and being a bungalow, it was ideal to see the elderly or disabled clients who couldn't manage stairs.

But as of now, it will be a family home again. It was a bit of a culture shock as we have had to lose a lot of stuff - it’s about ½ the size in floor area - but it is so much more manageable, giving us (theoretically) more time. We’ll see. But part of our New Year resolution has been fulfilled… we are getting smaller!

It wasn't without some sort of last minute drama though, as you would expect; the day before moving in the fridge was discovered as being ½ cm too high, which posed an interesting conundrum for the kitchen fitter who had to re-make one of the cabinets to accommodate, and EE completely mucked up our internet, meaning that for the first few weeks we had no Wi-Fi. This affected the girls more than us of course, and more than a few minutes amusement was had watching them either sitting against the back door or hanging out of the window in all weathers trying to connect to Mum and Dad's!

My parents, of course, were absolutely delighted with the move and I think Dad now felt as though everything was complete; I was 100% on hand to help Mum as he entered the final stages of his life. I know she was thankful for the fact that I was next door and this gave her great support. Dawn was brilliant and treated them as if they were her parents; nothing was too much trouble.

We have pretty much decided that this is where we’ll stay, as it is a place that will not be too big for two and also on one level, important in our later years as we enter our decrepitude. Having said all that, I sincerely hope that we will be here for many, many years as despite being nearly 10 years older than Dawn, I'm not planning on going anywhere just yet!

Into second gear - 2015 - A year in review

FEBRUARY 2015 - Part 2 of 12

Beginning of the month

Mid month

End of the month

Into February we head, having given our landlord notice for the house we were renting which meant we MUST be in our new abode by March 18^th, exactly 5 years to the day we moved in. The house has been great, if very big, but then I guess it needed to be in order to accommodate the brood. However, it was nigh on impossible to keep on top of the housework and consequently always looked like a bomb had hit it, forcing three different cleaners to leave due to the fact that they were “fighting a losing battle”. On the plus side, we avoided being burgled as any would-be-thief would think someone else had got there first…

Anyhow, this month was a race against time to make sure the new place was ready. A spell of horrendous weather now could spell disaster and delays for our moving in, so it was all a bit frantic with fingers, legs and everything else being crossed. In the end however, Mother Nature was kind. The month saw terrific progress (see pictures above) with just the interior decoration and installation of the kitchen needing to be done ahead of moving day, March 10^th. 

I had the Mercedes taxed and MOT’d, ready for me to start using and Dad was delighted. He was at this time convinced he wouldn't live to see us move in next door but despite him being in great discomfort, there was nothing to suggest that that would be the case and he was still being expertly cared for by Mum. He did have Prostate cancer, but then most men of that age have, and it's something we usually die with rather than of. He had received an injection for that last month and had an appointment to go back in April, so the medics were hardly concerned in the short term.

In other news, things were moving on a-pace as the details for the sale of the firm were finalised and a completion date set for May 1^st. That was such a relief for both Dad and I as it now wouldn't be all just on my shoulders and I would also be provided with a new challenge, something that I was looking forward to immensely. 

Another great love of my life, Southend United FC, were also beginning to mount a serious promotion challenge so that they could clamber out of the basement league, a division containing teams mainly playing "anti-football", i.e. stopping you playing rather than beating you through better performances. Quite legitimate of course, but pretty dull and boring to watch.

So this month, with lots ahead, it did feel like the year was going through the gears, shifting into second and accelerating towards the inevitable. Nervous and exciting times!

"In the first month of New Year, my true love gave to me..." - 2015 in review

JANUARY 2015 (part 1 of 12)

Our “12 Months of 2015” haven’t been so much like the song "12 Days of Christmas", more of an epic 12 part drama series, so let’s start with January, or, to be exact, just before that; 25^th December 2014, when I had Christmas at my parents’ house for the first time since I left home in 1983. The house next door – our old office and which in March would become our new home – was a building site (see above). I was in advanced negotiations regarding the sale of the business to a local firm of solicitors, BTMK, and Mum was acting as a 24 hour carer to my father, whose health had been deteriorating. I was doing the vast majority of their shopping, running around, doctor and hospital visits (all in between clients) so was pretty darn busy, as you can imagine. Dad hadn't driven since August and travelling anywhere was painful as he had a lot of discomfort in his back, neck and arms. It was clear that he wouldn't be going anywhere and as it was my turn to have the kids for Christmas day, we brought Christmas to him, emptying their conservatory in order to get everyone in.

Time was precious and there wasn't enough of it to do the usual present/food shopping, so Amazon and our local Cook! franchise became our best friends, providing 90% of the presents and 100% of the Christmas dinner, plus leftovers. It was a lovely day, Dad being in the middle of the table, surrounded by the most important thing in his world; his family. As it turned out, it was to be his last Christmas and I am forever thankful that we had that day.

Dad - in the thick of it on the left

So as for January itself, the house was coming along nicely, the weather was kind to allow the workmen to press on and Dad finally accepted he wasn't going to be driving again so gave me his 1997 Mercedes C180 with only 31000 miles on the clock. It has never let me down, unlike the Peugeot 207SW that I took to Oxford with a mate for a Southend game during this month (we won 3-2) and which broke down 10 miles outside Oxford on the way back, meaning a recovery job and getting home at about 01:30am.

There was so much going on at the time with the house renovation, the business and Dad deteriorating that New Year’s resolutions (if there were any at all) went out the window. I have found a social media post from New Year’s Eve 2014 during which both Dawn and I have vowed to be “getting smaller” in 2015. Certain aspects of our lives have, but sadly my waistline hasn't. Note to self - must try harder.

There, their, they're...

Many years ago when I was at school, my old English teacher Keith Warren (who may well read this and remember) told us about a local car repair centre that had a big sign on the window that read “EXHAUST'S”. He used to wind them up by going in and saying “Whose?” They used to look puzzled, he used to walk out and they were none the wiser. Well, I assume that was the case anyway, because the sign remained unchanged for years.

If you've reached this point and are wondering what the hell that was all about, then I fear the crux of this blog has already been lost and will probably irritate you as much as the flagrant abuse of our beautiful language has, in the past, irritated me. And others. (Yes, yes, I know that’s alliteration but it’s my blog and this is the point I’m making. Kind of. Please read on.)

Spelling is one thing. I have seen billboards advertising our local paper and they contain horrendous (and annoying) spelling errors, such as this -

Our main local shopping area has a very nice café with a sign that, until recently, had said “COFEEE SHOP”. There is a brilliant florist that has had her window professionally sign-written so that she can provide floral bouquets for, along with other things, “Extraodinary events”. The local golf club had a sign up for a few weeks that said, in foot high letters, “NEW MEBMERS WELCOME” and a sign was on the door of a closed shop for ages saying that it was unable to open due to a “brevement”.

But when it comes to the use of grammar and the correct use of a word... well I'm fed up with constantly seeing what people "would of" done instead of "would have", how they will borrow you something rather than lend it to you, how they "loose" something instead of "lose" it and then ask for "advise" and not "advice".

And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a winner. A current online advert for M&S displays a range of "Umbrella's" (we're back to the "exhaust's" thing again). The link is here - but by the time you read it, a correction may have occurred so you'll just have to take my word for it.

M&S Umbrella online blooper

Now I have friends who are far more "grammar activist" than me and for them, this has nearly caused a seizure. Marks and Spencer! A top 100 listed FTSE company for heaven’s sake! Now they really should know better; surely they must employ people specifically for the task of actually checking stuff like this? How slipshod is that? Does it show a sign of not caring, or is it just that there are so many people these days who don’t actually realise what’s wrong?  After all, for the last 15-odd years, “text-speak” has infiltrated into most written forms of communication and the phrase “C u tomoz” is almost acceptable. How long before our language evolves so much, that newspaper headlines use such abbreviations as the norm? Imagine - Kate Middleton gets another bun in the oven which turns out to be slightly overcooked... The Sun comes out with a headline like "Royal Babs L8. Due Tomoz."

So, I ask the question - Does it actually matter? Really?

Enthralled by the recent-ish TV series "Sherlock", starring the brilliant and interestingly named Benedict Cumberbatch as the great detective, I started reading Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s original stories, written 125 years ago. The language is quite different to that which is in common use now (it actually had to be re-written and dumbed-down for the American market. Fact.).

In the first book, "A Study in Scarlet", Holmes deduces that someone was a retired sergeant of the Marines from just his appearance. ""Wonderful!" I ejaculated." was Watson's response. "Steady on", I thought, "that must have been one hell of an exciting deduction! I didn't know it was THAT kind of book!" But of course, it was clearly just the correct use of a word that - as with the word "gay" - in modern times gives itself to a different and very specific meaning. 

If we go back to Shakespeare then the language is even more unfamiliar (check out the billboard advert below). 

Rewind even further to the 14^th century and Geoffrey Chaucer, known as the Father of English Literature, wrote "The Canterbury Tales" in almost a different language completely (Middle English); practically unreadable without a modern day translation.

Is it therefore just the natural modernisation and evolution of our language that we have arrived at today? 

The naming of a girl band a few years ago called “Girls Aloud” – clever word play – has resulted in many thousands of teenagers who now believe that they are not “aloud” to do something. Street speak has introduced many new words and rarely a meal goes by in my house without the kids declaring that their food is “Peng” (it’s a compliment – I think). The letter “z” has in many places replaced the letter “s” and generally things keep changing which, as you get older, becomes the hardest thing to accept. 

There is comfort in familiarity and any deviation from this represents another power shift to the young upstarts who, let’s face it, are going to be around in this world for longer than I've got left. I remember my old Nan moaning in 1971, when decimalisation was brought in and she couldn't understand it, that “They should have waited until all the old people had died first!"

Aside from the comedy of that statement, there is never a good time for change; we just have to embrace it and move on.

So is it in fact this loss of control that is the real bugbear here?

I have recently found a really good video article from Stephen Fry on the modern use of language and it’s a great retort to the grammar police. The link is here, I urge you to watch.

Stephen Fry - language excerpt

I must say that it has softened my stance and I am probably now more in the camp that thinks “Oh well, never mind.” 

Life’s too short, I know what is meant and that’s probably good enough.

Innit blud?

Male Order

I am often asked how I met my partner Dawn.  Many of my blogposts feature dating disasters in the time leading up to when I met her, but here I can recount the actual story surrounding the events that dictated how we got together.

Picture the scene; it is late November 2008 and I have been separated and single now for approaching 15 months, having had what seemed like more dates than a calendar. However, despite my eager search for long term female companionship, I had only managed a series of one-off liaisons, mainly being nights out in a restaurant, with about a quarter of those extending themselves briefly into alliances before I decided it wasn't worth pursuing.

So, with Christmas and New Year around the corner, I essentially gave up.. My dating site subscription(s) had or were just about to expire and I vowed to start afresh in early 2009.  But before I did so, I turned to Plenty of Fish, a dating site that boasts to be the largest free dating site in cyberspace. The trouble with free sites is that many of the people on there are just downright weird, although having said that, any single person I knew who had managed to fix themselves up with a partner had done so via POF, as it affectionately known, so it must have something going for it.

With a feeling of "What the Hell!", I departed from my usual format of a selection of pictures and slightly humorous site profile to one with no picture and a downright risque and very humorous profile (please see "The Day I Went to France and it was Closed" for what someone actually thought of my profile piccys). "Nothing ventured" I thought, it didn't cost anything and there was always the chance that there may be a fun date or two before my search began in earnest again in January.

I wasn't really expecting much contact because as a general rule, women don't respond or contact men without pictures (and not many had contacted me when I had displayed pictures, so what chance did that give me!). But I was amazed.  I had more interest from that than any other site or profile in the previous year. The types of women I had been previously trying to contact and who had ignored me completely were now almost forming a queue!  I ruled most out, either through their age (I wasn't interested in someone I could be either a father or son to), their location (I wanted someone within an hour and preferably in the same country) or who were smokers. And then I saw a profile than sparked my interest.

Elsewhere, and around a mile away from me, a yoga teacher had been dilly and dallying about her own situation.  She had repeatedly tried and failed to make her own marriage work but a recent episode had finally convinced her that the situation was irretrievable and that was that; she would have to move on. Being of a holistic nature, she embarked on a little bit of Cosmic Ordering. For those who don't know what this means, essentially it is creating a wish list and asking for it to be delivered. So a Male Order, if you like. She asked the universe to provide someone with the following attributes -

a) Tall
b) Good sense of humour
c) Good work ethic and who worked locally
d) Someone who was willing to hold her hand in public
e) A good conversationalist
f) Kind
g) Who had and liked children
h) Who respected her work and treated her as an equal, and, if at all possible,
i) Who had a physique to die for.

Aided by a friend, she nervously created her own profile in POF and waited.

And hers was the profile I had seen.

I didn't know about the Cosmic Ordering thing which is just as well because at that time I would have probably shrugged it off as a load of absolute nonsense.  But I tick all of those boxes (ok, except the last one as I have more of a physique to die from but it's close, right?) and the timing was absolutely uncanny.

2 The Mews

After a few emails and a phone call, we arranged our first date for the evening of the 5th December 2008 and I collected Dawn in a taxi before heading off to a local restaurant, 2 The Mews, for a romantic candlelit dinner for two. The taxi driver was ancient and her children who were then 11, 10 and 9, excitedly peered through the window to get a glimpse of their Mum's companion for the evening but instead got sight of a car driver who appeared to be in his eighties; not quite what they imagined.

But the evening was fun and after I had overcome the fact that I was unable to read the menu due to a) forgetting my glasses and b) the candlelight barely offering enough to see Dawn, let alone small print, I waved vaguely in the direction of the writing on the menu ordering "That one there" (it's a good job I eat anything!) and we set about the usual first date ritual of finding out a little about each other.

As it transpired, we talked for ages and I knew after about 15 minutes that she was completely trustworthy and would not hurt me.  This was a huge plus in my book and enabled me to lower the barriers that had previously been up as a self-protection mechanism and I let Dawn into my mind, my heart and my life.

The rest, as they say, is history.  I am publishing this blogpost on the 5th December 2013 and we will have been together five years.  Believe it or not, we have still yet to have an argument.  We both respect each other's opinions, feelings and space whilst encouraging and supporting each other through our daily lives, whether it be in the home or over work issues. Life is good and has probably never been better.

Happy 5th Anniversary to us!

Death Bingo

As a child, I never went to Skegness, as Cornwall was my parents holiday of choice. Skeggie (as it is affectionately known) doesn't conjure up a glamorous  image in the mind and so it was with some trepidation that the Band I am in (The Alvin Jones Band) accepted a booking there. Overnight accommodation was a must due to the fact that it is 160 miles and over three hours away by road, which is not exactly the sort of return journey you want to make at the end of a night when you've spent most of the day travelling, lugging the gear from the car to the venue, up the lift and stairs, across the hall, winding between the tables and then setting it all up before hanging around while they have the meal and speeches, playing for three hours plus and then doing the whole lot in reverse.

The Skegness Savoy

So, we were treated to a nights accommodation in a nearby hotel (The Savoy - or should that have been The Saveloy?) which was a short walk from the venue we were playing at called "Grand Central", Skeggies premier entertainment, shopping and dining complex.  This was a multi-million development, but having seen some of the interior decor I'm not sure that the currency in question was pounds...

Anyhow, a few people had reacted with a sharp intake of breath when I had told them where we were off to, but I have to confess that on arrival I was pleasantly surprised.  Yes, it's a seaside town which means that there was an abundance of Amusement Arcades, tacky gift shops and a whole string of restaurants all selling fish and chips. Yes, there is a Pleasure Beach, mini theme park, rides, a small pier and everything else that comes with the territory of being an English seaside town, which primarily seems to be all of the above with a distinct lack of warm sunshine. But it was clean and well maintained, and inhabited by possibly the friendliest people I have had the pleasure to meet. Wherever we went, nothing was too much trouble and we were accommodated every step of the way. The gig was great fun, we were well received and a grand time was had by all.  But the funniest part of this weekend was the game of what we christened "Death Bingo" (because a) we almost laughed ourselves to death watching it, and b) some of the participants looked nearly dead) that took place in the Savoy while we were waiting to go along to the Grand Central for the main event.

The "multi-million" Grand Central

We had arrived at about 4, unloaded, set our gear up and then wandered along to check in at the Savoy. With an hour or so to kill, we opted to have a drink in the hotel bar, which was empty on our arrival. However, within just a few minutes the dining room had emptied and we were joined by 20 or so ladies obviously out on a "Jolly".  They were, I would say, all in their late 70's and were very loud, but not in the "Essex Girl" sense. No, I think they were just loud because they were probably all a bit deaf and couldn't hear each other!

After a few minutes a lady who appeared to be their leader/organiser started selling Bingo cards.  She wisely avoided us, smiling and saying "'Ay oop, these Gents won't be wantin' ta play Bingo" and then proceeded to spread all of the money, markers and coins out all over the Pool table in the middle of the room.  Bang went a game then!  No chance!

Enter the bingo caller; a man in middle age with a blond quiff, baby pink V-neck jumper and a voice that made Graham Norton sound masculine.

"Ooooh, Ladies, welcome and we'll soon be starting the Bingo" he exclaimed, gesticulating wildly in all directions as he minced across the room.   "This game is a Full House game, no lines.  Off we go, can we keep the noise down please?"

The hubbub in the room failed to subside as he set up the electronic bingo machine and tried to make himself heard.  "Ladies, ladies, please, I'm about to start."  Our first number is..."

"Just a minute, 'ang on, I need me glasses an' thur in me bag over thur." said one.  "Oh, Gladys, for God's sake, yorra nightmur!" said the organiser.

"Right, are we ready now?" the caller continued. "Our first number is.... is... hang about... our first number is... Zero!"

Quizzical looks flew across the tables as the hubbub increased.  "Whaddya mean, zero, thur's no bloody zero on the card." claimed one.  "No, no, it's not working," the caller said, there must be something wrong with it."

"Get a move on!" said another.

"Ladies, please, I'm trying to start. Ok, here we go, the first number, one and three, 13.  Second number..."

"Hold on, Sue, have you gorra pen, mine's run out" said another player.

"What was the number again?" asked someone.

"Thirteen."

"Thirty?"

"No, thirteen!"Come on, ladies, keep it quiet!.


"What's the second number?"

"We haven't done the second number yet.  I'm just about to.  The second number is... four and seven, 47."

"Right, I've got my pen, what was the first number again?"

"Oh my Lord, thirteen!  Ladies, please settle down and pay attention!"

"I'm lost.  Has he called the second number?  I thought we'd just had 13."

And so on.  After a few minutes the caller did restore order and all was going well.  Then, Gladys called out "Line!"

"No, no, thur's no lines in this game, I said that."

"Oh, sorry."

The game continued for a few more minutes, until

"Line!"

"No, no, no, I've already said, thur's no lines in this game!  We said that a few minutes ago.  Full House only!"

"Oh, sorry, sorry, I was gettin' all excited as well."

"Ladies, can I please say again, it's a Full House game, thur are no lines!".

And so the game went on... and on... and on... and on, so much so that I was beginning to wonder if there were actually any numbers left.  I was thinking how funny would it be if all the numbers were called and no-one had a Full House..  and then the machine stuck on the number 24.  Despite all efforts, it would not budge.  The organiser came to the rescue.

"Ok, ok, I'll try and sort it out." she said, at which point she began fiddling with and then banging the machine.  It remained stuck on 24, then started going back through the numbers that had been called.

"15, 92, 65, 54.."

"We've 'ad all of them!" came a voice from a far table.

"Yes, I know, but I've got to go back through them all. I can't help it." said the organiser.  Groans filled the room.  "Look, look, it's simple, if we have to start again, then if he calls a number you've got then just mark it off again but if it's not marked then don't. Oooh, you know what I mean."

Well no, I don't think anyone did.  I'm still trying to fathom it out myself.  Unfortunately, at this point we had to leave but tears were streaming down our faces - to be honest you probably had to be there - and I have no idea if a) anyone actually had a clue that they were the source of our amusement, or b) whether or not they finished their game.

However, there was one final moment at breakfast the following morning that topped everything. Gladys loudly announced that she had a massive bruise on her thigh and she hadn't got a clue why.  It was the organiser who reminded her, equally loudly, that it was probably due to her antics in trying to straddle the Pool table the night before.  Gladys agreed.  It appeared to be a serious comment.

The mind boggles.